A MOBEEN APPRECIATION 287 



The writer cannot more fitly bring this memoir 

 of his kinsman to a conclusion than by quoting, by 

 permission, the following pleasing verses, embody- 

 ing as they do a present-day appreciation of the 

 place and its Historian, which appeared in ' The 

 Speaker' of June 17th, 1893, entitled — 



"IN THE COUNTRY OF GILBERT WHITE. 



" Ghosts of great men in London town 

 Confuse the brains of such as dream, 

 But here betwixt this hanging down 

 And this great moorland, waste and brown, 

 One only reigns supreme. 



" In Wolmer Forest, old and wide, 

 Along each sandy pine-girt glade 

 And lonesome heather-bordered ride, 

 A gentle presence haunts your side, 

 A gracious reverend shade. 



" And as you pass by Blackmoor grim, 

 And stand at gaze on Temple height, 



Methinks the fancy grows less dim : 



Methinks you really talk with him 

 Who once was Gilbert White. 



" For yonder lies his own true love, 

 His little Selborne, dreaming still, 

 The shapely * Hanger ' towers above. 

 Girt with its beautiful beech grove. 

 Like some old Grecian hill. 



"And there th' abrupt and comely 'Nore' 

 Guards that wild world of bloom and bird 

 Where his clear patient sense of yore 

 Conned sights and sounds, which ne'er before 

 Sweet poets saw or heard. 



